Vermilion Justice Read online

  Riah raised an eyebrow. “A marriage for appearances?”

  Ivy shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I doubt Lura realizes she’s a lesbian. Me, I’ve known for a long time, but what could I do until she made peace with it herself? I wasn’t all that surprised when Vic went to Romania without her. What did surprise me was his death. A real shame. I really liked the guy. Everybody did. He was just one of those people you’re drawn to. Lura headed over to bring his ashes back home.”

  So far Riah hadn’t heard anything that explained Ivy’s discontent. “The problem?”

  “Good question, and frankly, I’m not quite sure there is a problem. That was my aunt Penelope on the phone, my mother’s sister. Anyway, she hasn’t heard from Lura since her plane landed, and she’s pretty worried. It’s not like my cousin to drop off the face of the earth.”

  “Should your aunt be worried?”

  Ivy waggled her head from side to side. “I don’t think so…I don’t know.”

  “But what?” Riah could see a flicker of something akin to alarm in Ivy’s troubled expression.

  “I have a not-so-good feeling something isn’t right. Lura’s a doctor like her husband, and plenty capable of taking care of herself.”

  “I still hear a but in there.”

  “But it makes me a little nervous, her not calling and all. I know things were messed up between her and Vic. Still, it’s not like her to make her parents worry. She’s pretty tight with my aunt and uncle. Lura was always uber-responsible. The shock of Vic’s death surely has her rattled, yet I have to believe she’d talk to her mom.”

  Riah didn’t often see Ivy nervous about anything, especially since becoming a vampire. She was confident, powerful, and usually right. Riah could always count on Ivy in any situation, regardless of how tense or dangerous. Seeing her friend’s obvious unease made a bad feeling start to creep up her spine as well, and she’d never even met Ivy’s cousin.

  *

  Under any other circumstances Lura would be pissed off. Strangely, right now she wasn’t. Curious, yes. Uneasy, yes. Angry, No. Alexandru was different, but even so there was something about him she inherently trusted. She couldn’t explain it; it was just gut instinct.

  One of her favorite professors in medical school always insisted a really good psychiatrist used not only her brains and education, but her gut instinct as well. Hers was telling her now that Alexandru hadn’t left her. He was close by and he was waiting for her.

  As the sun edged its way across the clear blue sky, pushing shadows out longer and longer, Alexandru came over the top of a hill a few hundred yards from the car. In glow of the sun, he was a proud figure walking with the grace of a nobleman. It was like something she’d seen in a movie.

  Who was he really? Where did he came from? How did he come to be her knight in this time of pain and loss? So many questions and not one single answer.

  “Hello, lovely one,” he said as he stopped in front of her. “Feeling better?”

  Lovely one? What exactly did he mean by that? He didn’t even know her, so what was with the term of endearment? Or maybe he didn’t mean anything at all by it and she was overthinking everything because…well, because she was a train wreck and overly sensitive. Truth be told, she was bone weary and out of sorts. A perfect combination for taking anything and everything out of context.

  Time to get over it—to get over herself. He probably meant nothing more by his kind words than a gentle greeting for a grieving woman. He was trying to make her feel better, and she was being a bitch about it. Tired or not, she couldn’t excuse her behavior. Her mama had taught her better.

  She pushed herself up and out of the car, giving him a weak smile. “Yes, thank you.”

  His smile was gentle, friendly. If he sensed her earlier grumpiness, he gave no indication. “Good.”

  She raised an eyebrow and glanced around. “Ah, Alexandru, where exactly are we?” She might not know her way around this country, but she was pretty sure they weren’t on the road to Tirgoviste anymore.

  He took her arm and walked toward the hill he’d just descended from. “I hope you do not mind, but we’ve taken a little detour. We are at the town of Snagov.”

  A little detour? She honestly didn’t have the time or the desire to go anywhere except exactly where she needed to. It wasn’t like she was on a sightseeing tour. Far from it, and he had to know that. “Snagov?”

  His smile was slight as he gazed out, his eyes trained on something she couldn’t see. “Yes, Snagov. Isn’t it beautiful? Come, we’ll take a little boat ride.”

  The last thing she wanted to do today was hop in a boat for a pleasure cruise. Her frustration level started to climb once more. She was about to tell him they had to get back on the road when she caught sight of the boat he was heading for. It wasn’t exactly the type of boat made for lake cruising. It was a rowboat.

  “Ah, Alexandru, a rowboat?”

  Undeterred by the reluctance ringing loud and clear in her voice, he smiled and his face lit up, making him even more handsome. Too bad she wasn’t into men. “We have to walk the grounds of Snagov Island. It is a beauty you won’t soon forget.”

  “Do we really have time?” She was trying to be diplomatic and polite, though it took effort.

  “Do not worry.” He squeezed her hand as he helped her into the boat. “All will be as it should be.”

  Well, that didn’t exactly answer her question. A protest was poised on her lips and then died. Why not just take a little detour? It wasn’t like Vic was going anywhere. Besides, if she knew Vic, he’d been here too, and taking a bit of time to see the island could make her feel as though she was walking with him. A little less guilt, maybe. Or not.

  As Alexandru rowed, the boat swayed from side to side, and a cool breeze blew through her hair. The shores of the island grew closer with each slap of the oar through the frigid water. She wrapped her arms around her body and stared ahead. There in the distance, the Snagov Monastery rose tall and beautiful. The pale walls almost glowed in the light of the fading day as the many steps that led to the arched doorways rested deep in shadows. Even from this far away, the building was impressive.

  Despite her weariness, curiosity about the church tickled her mind. Perhaps a quick prayer might help ease her aching heart. Not that she was overly religious. Still, it couldn’t hurt. If they hurried, it wouldn’t cost them too much time, and they’d be back on the road fairly quickly.

  Alexandru brought the boat up alongside a long wooden dock. It bumped the side and he jumped out, tying it securely before holding out a hand to her.

  At the end of the dock, she stepped out onto the grassy shore, looked around, and asked, “What’s so special about this place?” It was scenic, she’d give it that. Special? She didn’t see it.

  His gaze never strayed from the chapel. “Many things make this island special. Perhaps the most important detail, at least to the people of Snagov, is that we’re standing in front of the reputed burial place of Vlad Dracula, son of the dragon.”

  All right, she got that one of the major tourist draws to this country was not just the legend of Dracula created by Bram Stoker, but also the mysterious prince who was the real man behind the fictional creation. Under different circumstances, the historical significance would interest her. But these weren’t normal circumstances by anyone’s definition, and she wasn’t an American tourist looking for vampire chills and thrills. No, she needed two things, and two things only: to get Vic and to get home.

  “The vampire,” she stated, less than enthusiastically. Somehow it had seemed more interesting before Alexandru had thrown in a vampire legend. The lovely historic monastery was unique and the island itself quite beautiful. Wrapping it all up in legends and folklore tarnished it for her.

  Honestly, Alexandru didn’t strike her as the type to be interested in old myths and glorified legends, preternatural or otherwise. Her first impression of him as a serious, stalwart man seemed dead-on, only now she won
dered if she’d been mistaken. Either she was off her game, or he’d seriously misjudged her by thinking this was something she’d appreciate.

  “Not a vampire,” he said, turning to study at her with dark, solemn eyes. “Exactly.”

  His gaze captivated her. In it she still saw the serious man who’d offered unwavering hospitality and empathy for her loss. But buried beneath the obvious was something she’d missed earlier and couldn’t quite define now. Strangely enough, it didn’t frighten her. Instead, it piqued her curiosity.

  Getting sidetracked wasn’t a good idea, even if she wanted to know what he was up to. She kept her awareness on the here and now, and would figure out the rest of it later. “I didn’t mean it literally, but remember I’m from the good old USA, where Dracula is very nearly a cult hero. I’m just not one of the flock who finds that interesting. I prefer to live and breathe in a world more real.”

  Lura didn’t worship fictional heroes like Count Dracula. Her grasp of what was real and what wasn’t prevented her from getting sucked into the crap people made up, Stoker included, even if his novel was a classic. Vampires didn’t exist, period. Dracula, the real one, was just a man, flesh and blood like everyone else. She’d counseled her share of lost souls who embraced the Goth and vampire cultures, and she didn’t buy in.

  “A shame,” he muttered, turning away so that all she could see was his strong profile. “The world has so many layers and dimensions. And for the record, in my humble opinion, he was hardly a hero.”

  Exactly her point. “I’m surprised you’d say that.” Vic had told her often how the real man, while brutal and vindictive, was at the same time a savior to his people. He protected them from invaders even when they were far outnumbered. His tactics had been brutal, without question, but he’d lived in brutal times and probably did what he believed he must. Who was she to judge when she’d never had to live in Dracula’s world?

  His face turned sad. “You wouldn’t be if you knew the whole story. So much death.”

  True enough, but how would anyone ever know the real story? History wasn’t always written to the facts. The victors had a way of consistently glorifying their own actions while omitting anything that hinted at failure or their own bleak secrets. The old saying that the winners wrote history was born of a deep truth that denied subsequent generations the history they deserved.

  She thought back to the stories Sofia had shared with her. Granted, Lura had been a child in those days and the stories tempered for her young mind. Still, she’d grasped Sofia’s pride in her country’s legacy and the man who’d saved them from the invading Turks. Her admiration of his time had filtered through clearly in her words.

  “They revere the man in these parts…that much I do know.”

  He nodded. “Yes, they do, and for good reason. The legends of Dracula, good and bad, have brought much to this place. I’m speaking of the reality of what folk legends can do, and that, my dear Lura, is something completely different from the stark reality of a monster.”

  Her name as it crossed his lips brought goose bumps to her flesh. Instinctively, she crossed her arms across her chest, rubbing her hands up and down her forearms until the warmth returned. “So why, Alexandru, why are we really here?”

  In the last few minutes, she’d come to believe there was a backstory to this little venture off the beaten path. Alexandru had suggested the detour casually, and yet she had the sense it was anything but simple.

  “I apologize,” he said in a tempered voice. “I had no right to bring you to this place, but I wanted to see it once more. To stand here in this time and in this place and to drink it in until it filled my whole being. My own journey of discovery started here, and thus it will end here as well.”

  His words were so filled with ghosts and regrets she almost put her arms around him. Resisting the uncharacteristic urge, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans and said, “I still don’t understand. I thought we were just going to drive through to Tirgoviste, pick up Vic, and return to Bucharest in order for me to take him home.”

  His smile banished the sadness. “No, I don’t suppose you do understand, and it would take a terribly long time to explain. Just suffice it to say that I was here a very long time ago, and I needed to bring my voyage full circle.”

  Full circle, yeah, she understood the concept. “I get that,” she said as she put a hand on his arm, his skin warm. “If I couldn’t feel you right now, I’d still believe I was dreaming like I was in the car.” The thought of the dream made her shudder. “Speaking of which, I’m surprised you didn’t hear me scream. That was one strange nightmare.”

  “Scream?” His face suddenly filled with concern. “I did not hear you.”

  “Just a dream. No big deal. I have them all the time, always have. Especially when I’m exhausted. Since the call about Vic, I don’t think I’ve slept for more than a couple of hours at a time. It was inevitable that one of them would knock my feet out from under me.”

  “Come.” He extended his hand. “Let us walk. It will relax you.”

  Lura looked at his hand and his face, then put her hand in his. The gentle pressure of his fingers entwined with hers was comforting. “Where are we going?”

  “Darkness is falling and it’s not safe to try to navigate the lake with no visibility, so we’ll stay at the home of a friend.”

  What? Stay on this island all night? “You mean we’re stuck here?” Her stomach sank.

  “Yes.” He made a quick stop back at the boat to grab her suitcase, which apparently he’d put into the boat while she’d slept.

  “My suitcase?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been caught off guard here before and I prefer to be prepared just in case. Tonight is such a case.”

  She blew out a long breath and let him guide her with a firm hand in the direction of a narrow road some distance away from the lakeshore. “I give up.”

  His voice was calm and soothing. “Not to worry. We will have a wonderful place to rest. Mircea is on a trip but leaves his home open for my use, should I be on the island.”

  “Stay here?” The near-panic in her voice sounded loud and clear, even though she tried not to sound like a frightened child. Why had he brought her to this place anyway? Before she’d nodded off to sleep things had made sense in a warped, this-is-fucked-up way. But from the moment she opened her eyes in the car, nothing made sense. Now this. Could things in her life get anymore messed up?

  The corners of his mouth turned up a little as he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Yes, you will have a wonderful rest, and we will be on our way before you know it. Trust me, Lura. Things will work out as they should.”

  “Vic…” she whispered as he tugged on her hand.

  “All in good time.” He spoke in a soft voice. “It will be fine, I promise you, Lura.”

  For some odd reason, she believed him, and at this point, what could she say? They should be getting close to Tirgoviste about now, and instead they were on an island where Dracula was said to be buried. As far as she could tell, they were on the island alone. Surely more people were about somewhere, but as the sun began to set, she had no idea where. Not a sound, not a light, nothing.

  How Alexandru knew where to find the place was a mystery. She didn’t see a driveway when he tugged on her arm, turning her to the left. Yet there it was, winding between trees and bushes. They followed it until a small, tidy cottage popped up out of the night. Lura stopped and stared while Alexandru disappeared into the house. A minute later, lights spilled from the ornate paned windows.

  “Come,” he said from the doorway where the yellow glow of lamps beckoned from behind him.

  Lura let go of any lingering reluctance and gratefully accepted his invitation to step inside. Like the hotel Alexandru had guided her to, his friend’s house was cozy and inviting. Though it was small, the minute she stepped inside, warmth wrapped around her like an old, comfortable friend.

  “Sit.” He motioned toward a stuf
fed chair with a beautiful woolen throw tossed across the back. In deep blues, greens, and golds, it was a work of art. “I will make you a cup of tea, and then we’ll have some time to talk. I have much to tell you before our journey continues.”

  Chapter Four

  Wallachia, Romania

  1456

  Most in the castle slept, and for that small blessing she was grateful. The wait had been long, but at last the night was upon her. How she longed to see her brother’s face and to know that he was well. For such a long time they had been apart from each other. Many days she despaired for his return.

  His journey was destined to be and she, nor any other, had the right to question the wisdom of it. Despite the rightness of what he was doing, the danger of it weighed heavy on her heart. What if he failed? What if he did not find her? What if? What if? What if? The doubts were enough to make her head ache until she cried out in pain.

  The Prince’s party lingered far into the night with plentiful wine, food, and many groping hands. Unlike many of the other women, she was spared the indignity of the vulgar attention. No word was spoken, and yet all knew they were not to touch her. Any other choice was not really a choice at all. He alone claimed that right. Even now, her skin crawled as she thought about his hands touching her flesh and…

  No, she wouldn’t think about it or what could be. Her thoughts would be on getting to her brother and bringing him home once more. Of keeping her secret once he returned. She feared what he might do if he learned the truth.

  Dressing in a black gown and tying her hair into a woven scarf, Nicoletta left her chambers and hurried down the corridor. At the end of the stone passageway, the sounds of laughter—drunken laughter—echoed off the walls. Her hands trembled as she listened. Pressing her back tight against the wall, she moved silently. To draw attention to herself would be a death sentence. The Prince would see her sneaking out of the castle alone as a sign of betrayal. No one betrayed him and lived to tell of it.